by Mirren Hogan
“That would be bad.”
“Very bad. Luckily I know a girl.”
Some of Lola’s fellow witches thrived on seeking out vampires. They loved frequenting nightclubs; immersing themselves in the pounding music, sweating bodies and overwhelming scent of blood and Chanel Number Five.
Others liked hunting werewolves out in the wild; camping and enjoying the open air.
Lola, however, preferred tracking angels. Their haunt of choice—libraries.
Perhaps it was the musty smell of ageing pages, the orderly rows of shelves and books, or just the soft whisper of turning paper. Maybe they were drawn to the serenity of people reading, or the hundreds of years of knowledge contained inside the plastered walls. Her grandmother had once said they liked the sound of heartbeats. For that, they’d need silence, or close to it. They certainly wouldn’t hear over the latest hit by Katy Perry, its bass enhanced for the enjoyment of clubbers.
Lola’s theory was that they were less conspicuous here. Her eyes were drawn toward an older woman, hair in a tight bun, oversized glasses resting on the tip of her long nose. Pattie Potts was no angel, Lola knew that from past encounters. Pattie was a witch of some ability, who disdained a life of magic, instead working here and keeping an eye out for ancient texts to cross her desk, especially those which might give away their existence.
Lola gave her a nod and was rewarded with a slight jerk of Pattie’s head toward a young woman sitting alone at a large table. She had pin-straight black hair, dainty features and red-rimmed glasses which she pushed back up her face with an impatient hand. Her attention was on her laptop which sat open in front of her.
There was no point in trying to sneak up on an angel, she’d hear the heartbeat before she even got close. Lola simply walked to the table and sat down opposite.
“What?” the woman asked without looking up.
“I’m trying to find an angel,” Lola said.
“I’ve heard that pick-up line before. Not interested.”
Lola cleared her throat. “I’m not trying to pick you up. An angel had someone killed and I’m trying to find out why.”
The woman looked up sharply, her brown creased in a deep frown. “What are you?” She sniffed the air. “You don’t smell like a vamp, or a human.”
“You don’t look like a werewolf, but you’re acting like one,” Lola replied easily.
The woman flushed. “Maybe I’m a demon,” she suggested.
“You’re not eating the books.” While mostly harmless, demons were known for having a voracious appetite for anything that didn’t move. This included the occasional parked car, but apparently digesting one was not pretty, nor was cleaning up what came out the other end.
“I’ll pay that point.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Elektra.”
Lola raised an eyebrow.
“I’m hunting an errant angel.”
“Ah, an Angel Hunter. I’ve heard they tend to have short life-spans.” Lola shook her hand. “I’m a witch. I suspect we’re looking for the same thing.”
Elektra grimaced. “I drew the short straw. Normally I’m a scholar. But Riel, the angel in question, she was a friend.”
“Was?”
Elektra shrugged with one shoulder. “She fell in love with a human. I warned her it wouldn’t end well. She didn’t appreciate my saying so.”
“She’s angry with you then?” It seemed like a flimsy reason, but angels could be volatile when provoked.
“Of course not,” Elektra replied. “Someone killed her lover.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Well, sort of.” So much for turning the other cheek.
“Several someones, to be precise,” Elektra added. “A bunch of guys got drunk and went for a joyride in a stolen car. Hit her lover as he crossed the road, left him for dead. Word is you found one already.”
“How? Oh.” Lola looked over to Pattie. Of course. The witch grapevine moved faster than Twitter. The moment she’d mentioned she was looking for an angel, Pattie would have known. And if Pattie knew, everyone knew.
“I hear a witch is looking for me.” The voice didn’t need to boom to reach across the library. It would have rung out across a nightclub, and yet it wasn’t loud. Rather it was smooth like cream sliding down the skin and trickling into the ears. It was a voice of power, cool and yet at the same time dancing with heat that made Lola’s blood warm.
She glanced at Elektra’s pale face before turning around in her seat.
“Riel I presume?”
The angel was shorter than her, but with wider hips and soft curves. Her hair was burgundy with mousy-brown roots, which matched perfectly ordinary brown eyes. She could have come from work in Walmart, or a bank, but she exuded confidence that drew Lola from the first look. She had to shake her head to remind herself this woman was dangerous and unstable.
Riel stepped closer. “I did nothing wrong,” she said simply.
“Tell that to the dead guy,” Lola replied.
A flash of anger crossed Riel’s face. “I was set up.”
“Sure you were.” Lola shrugged. “Who would set up an angel?” She didn’t know what made her duck, but one moment she was sitting in her chair, the next she was lying on the worn carpet under the table.
“What the—“
Power sizzled over her head, making her hair stand on end.
“Interfering witches,” someone hissed. It wasn’t Riel. Elektra?
She peered out and saw Elektra standing, arms outstretched, a look of hatred sketched on her face. She aimed another blast of power in her direction.
Before Lola could even move, Riel stepped in front of it, taking the brunt right in her chest. She grunted and staggered back. Shit, what had she gotten into the middle of?
“Get out of here,” Pattie called from behind a shelf of romance books.
Lola crawled the length of the table and made a run for it, diving behind the front desk before another surge of power whizzed past. It slammed into the wood, sending splinters flying in all directions.
“Why are you doing this?” she called out.
She was met with silence. Slowly she rose to peer over the desk. Pattie’s face appeared from behind the bookshelf. Otherwise they were alone.
“I guess you didn’t see this coming either?” Lola asked, crouching to pick up another shard of wood.
“She seems so nice,” Pattie replied. “Do you think she lied about Riel’s lover?”
“No, I’m pretty sure that was the truth, but I suspect Elektra set it up.” Lola groaned. “I hope this isn’t one of those ‘she took my man so I killed and now I’m after her’ things.”
“Those are never nice,” Pattie agreed. “Do you want some help with this?”
“I thought you were done with magic?”
“She made a mess of my library, it’s now personal.”
“Of course it is. I don’t suppose you keep a cauldron out the back?”
Pattie gave her a long look. “I do, but that’s between us.”
“My lips are sealed. Let’s do this.”
Lola wiped her brow. Cauldron work was hot and steamy, and not in a good way. It required a small space, a lot of very hot water and no chanting about bubbles and troubles. There were also no promises about results. She just hoped they’d get answers before they saw an epic, divine battle on the TV news.
“We need more rosemary,” Pattie said, throwing in a handful.
“We’re not cooking lamb,” Lola replied.
Pattie gave her a funny look, but then said, “We need to know why they’re doing this. We should see the recent past.”
“I hope they can’t tell we’re looking,” Lola muttered. She added, “Ostende,” a bit louder.
The cauldron gave a bubble, then another, before an image appeared in the steam hanging above it. In it, Elektra and Riel stood side by side, drinks in hand, strobing lights making their movements appear jerky. Even then, it was obvious they were arguing. Riel threw her drink in Elektra’s
face and walked off, leaving her dripping, eyes flashing with fury.
“I don’t think that justifies murder,” Pattie said. She tossed a handful of salt into the cauldron. “Perhaps this will help.”
“Nothing like a bit of seasoning.”
The image above the cauldron become one of Elektra, her face wet with what now looked like tears. She stood over a bed on which a woman lay. From the pallor of her skin, she was dead, at least for a few hours. Riel stepped into the image, her hand outstretched, Elektra knocked it aside. As she did so, a shadowy figure appeared above the deceased woman.
Even without sound, it was evident that Elektra screamed, “No!” She raised her hands to push Riel, but the angel drew the soul of the woman to her. The pair disappeared and Elektra fell to her knees, dissolving into waves of grief.
“Ooookay, so Elektra had a friend. I guess she doesn't deal well with mortality.”
“Ironic for an immortal,” Pattie said.
Lola grunted in agreement. “Some people can’t handle other people doing their jobs.”
“Yes, and she’s killing people because of it.”
“Right, and I don’t think I want to be involved in this.
“It’s a bit late for that.”
Lola sighed. “I can’t exactly go to Riel’s boss.”
“You might not need to.” Pattie nodded toward the image. Elektra had grown taller. Where a moment before she’d had neat hair, now her head was adorned with snakes; snapping and weaving representations of her anger. Her eyes began to bleed, first a few drops, then a torrent down her cheeks before the image winked out.
“Crap, she’s a fury. She won’t give up until she kills Riel. Or someone kills her.”
Fury hunters had even shorter life spans.
“Are you sure about this?”
“No.” But Lola shoved a silver knife into its sheath and buckled it at her hip. “Someone has to do it.”
“Isn’t there a spell you can do?”
Lola glanced at Maggie and shook her head. “Yes, but it’s messy. I’ll use that as a last resort.”
“More than stabbing someone?”
“Cutting off her head would be easier, but I don’t have a sword.”
Maggie grimaced. “You know this goes against what we do for a living?”
“If I don’t do it, we’ll be a lot busier.”
Maggie had no answer for that.
Lola gave her a nod and headed out the door, leaving Maggie to lock up her place. Considering the chance of her returning, it wasn’t high on her list of priorities.
She tapped a hand against her thigh. How does a person get the attention of a fury? The answer came to her quickly enough.
“Riel,” she called out, “are you out there watching?” Angels were known for stalking—uh, observing people in secret.
Several breaths later, the angel appeared. “You know you shouldn't be—“
Elektra appeared almost on her heels and took a swing at the angel with a hand laden with power. Riel ducked and a nearby tree was disintegrated, sending several bird flying skyward.
“You know she was only doing her—“
“Don’t say job,” Elektra hissed. “She could have…” She shook her head.
“This only ends one way,” Lola said. “You can’t kill an angel.” Well, not easily, and not without destroying half the city.
“I can take a few people with me.”
Lola licked her lips. “But then you could—“
Riel leaped at Elektra, hands outstretched. She let out a screech worthy of a banshee. Elektra turned toward her, poised to fend her off and strike.
Lola took the chance to pull out her knife and drive it deep into the fury’s throat. For a moment she didn’t think Elektra even noticed.
The fury’s eyes widened and she froze before throwing back her head and letting out a loud gurgle. The blow had all but severed her head from her shoulders. Instead of blood pouring from the wound, she burst into flames.
Lola’s sleeve caught on fire. With a cry of pain she fell back and tugged off her shirt. Underneath her skin was red and starting to blister. It hurt like hell, but she’d live.
She took several hasty steps back as the flames licked at the tar. They danced and writhed like a living creature before going out, leaving only a pile of ashes.
“Well—that was fun,” she said, trying not to be sick.
A shadow rose from the ashes.
Riel moved toward it, her face surprisingly serene considering what she’d just witnessed.
For a moment Lola thought Elektra’s soul would lunge at Riel. Instead, it accepted her outstretched hand and the pair disappeared.
“You’re welcome,” Lola called out, but no one was there to hear.
“Bloody angels,” she muttered. “A bit of gratitude never went astray. Luckily witches don’t take it personally when they’re scorned.”
Hell hath no fury, but Heaven had a new one.
If you liked this story from Mirren Hogan, you can read more from her in Rogue Skies. Preorder for 99c.
About the Author
Mirren Hogan is an Australian author who also writes reverse harem and fantasy romance under Maggie Alabaster.
She lives in NSW, Australia with one spouse, two daughters, dog, cat, rabbits and countless birds.
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Copyright © 2019 by Lianne Willowmoon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Månen’s Order
Lianne Willowmoon
“Isn’t she marvelous, Captain Dahgan? She was designed to be an exact replica of the female of the Cavirq species.”
Dahgan stared for a moment in astonishment at the creation. Walking around the unique piece of machinery, he shook his head at her beauty. She was perfect in every way imaginable. “So, this will be sent to infiltrate the planet of Cavriem in the Black Sector and prepare us for the battle that is to come?”
Jevil smiled and nodded. “She is built to record and send back data for 168 hours total running time. Which is exactly seven days. At which, we call the internal machine and she will self-destruct. Away from civilization, of course, to avoid it being seen.”
Dahgan chuckled with an intense rage laced through the sound. “My god, this may just work. Which, in all honesty, makes me madder than this whole situation did to begin with. When does she launch?”
“This afternoon. She has been tested and all of her functions work at 100% capability. She is FLAWLESS.” Jevil laughed and stood back a bit, proudly smiling. “She is probably my best work, if I do say so myself. Top of the line developments and engineering rolled into a beautiful, mechanical creature.”
Dahgan smiled to him as he ran his hand over the pale green skin. Her scales on her shoulders and her chest were rough like that of a fish. The gills along her ribs were soft and sponge-like. She stood at only 5 foot tall. She was beautiful… just as he had imagined a Cavirq female being to be. Cavirq females hardly ever grew above 5’2”. The males were shorter… usually only reaching 4’9”.
Dahgan had studied the species in cadet training but had always been fascinated by them. Once the peace treaty between the two species was broken and war had been anticipated, he had felt troubled. He didn’t wish to see the Cavirq colonies obliterated by the Qan'ul fleet. However, as a Captain of the Supernova Squadron, he had to follow orders. He had attempted to object to the mission; he had even volunteered himself to visit with the Cavirq colonies to try and create a new peace treaty. They had denied every request he made.
Jevil looked at him and sighed, hanging his head. “Look, Trep… I know this isn’t the mission y
ou wanted. If it were up to me, I would have sent you on the treaty mission.”
Dahgan peered over the prototype at Jevil and dipped his head slightly. “I know you would have, Jevil. However, that is not to be. They denied my final request this morning.”
Jevil glanced up at him and cleared his throat. “Sorry, Trep.” He looked at the robot and smiled quirkily. “Maybe, and this is just a thought… if this robot showed the commanders and the Embassy that the Cavirq are a peaceful species, they might pay more attention to you? I have engineered all the footage to come to you before it goes anywhere else. A last resort, an attempt anyway, to keep us from war.”
Dahgan blinked and chuckled. “Have I mentioned recently how much I respect your ability to twist and turn even the worst moment into something positive?”
“No, but I will take that as such.” He laughed and walked over, tapping him on the shoulder. “What is meant to be will be, and rumor has it that we can’t stop it. We can, however, make every attempt possible to stop it in the hopes of a different future. At least, until we cease to exist. It is our purpose, after all. To advance ourselves and fight against the odds.”
Jevil walked out and left Dahgan staring, dumbfounded by his logic, at the prototype. He pulled up a chair and sat down, rubbing his face. Deeply disturbed that the Embassy of Migrant Affairs, Red Sector, wasn’t willing to try for peace a second time. It wasn’t like them to not at least make the attempt to keep a treaty with a species that up until the treaty was broken, kept to themselves and never interfered with Red Sector’s work. Even when most of the Black Sector had their noses up in the Red Sector’s business, they hadn’t been. He hung his head and rubbed his temples. Perhaps he should quit trying to figure it out. His head was telling him it was pointless, and he needed sleep. A nap before the launch sounded like a perfect idea.
Dahgan wondered down the halls of the space station, Vèniri HG2tG-42, in a daze. Several lower crew men saluted him as they walked by, to which he nodded. Sleep deprivation was really hitting him hard. He had lost numerous hours of rest coming up with plans, and requests for this mission. After the letter came this morning with the final appeal denied, he figured his body was now telling him he had done his best and rest was inevitable. He wandered into his quarters and stretched out on his bed. It wasn’t long before he was drifting.